


Challenge Four - Taboo

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon Entries 2015 [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conquest, Dark, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Character Death, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur conquers Ealdor. This is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge Four - Taboo

**Author's Note:**

> Dark. EXTREMELY dubious consent bordering on NON-CON but with a bait-and-switch power-dynamic. Rite-of-conquest rape type set-up. I'm really sorry. This is why we can't have nice things.

This is symbolic. Like _droit de seigneur_ : the king taking a bride's maidenhead. It shows who has mastery here now, shows the people who their new lord is, where to bow down to, who to bend at the knee for. It's a rite of conquest. And here, today, for Arthur, it's a rite of passage.

That doesn't mean Arthur wants it. 

'You led the vanguard, it's your victory,' says Uther, riding up a-horseback, trailing knights like bloodstained ducklings. 'Just pick one, for God's sake, Arthur.'

Arthur led the vanguard because they're _his men_ to lead, because he trained them and trained with them and they were ordered to take this little hamlet, and so he went with them. Because he's young and hale and built for war. Not because he wanted this supposed prize. Ealdor is so tiny, even though it is of strategic importance in the war against Cenred. There are only five virgins kneeling in the mud, staring at Arthur with bloody murder in their faces. More than one of them has killed this morning, not that it helped them in the end. What does that symbolise?

How can Arthur do this? They would all fight him - so he'll have to fuck whichever girl he picks by force. And, God, hasn't there been enough violence today? At least the ones they cut down had the choice to lay down arms and be taken prisoner instead. It's on the tip of Arthur's tongue to refuse, even if that means that his father will do the deed instead, like he has before - when a bitter voice from amongst the assembled villagers says, 'I'm a virgin. Have me.'

A gangly, blood-smeared thing, with smutches like ash down his milk-white throat, pushes forward. He looks like he's made of bird-bones and steel wire. 'If the prince sees nothing to his liking there, let him have me,' he says, blue eyes daring Arthur. 'If he can get it up for me, that is.'

Sir Kay clouts him. 'You will show respect, peasant, or you will lose your tongue.' But the boy doesn't drop his gaze, just turns to stare imperiously at Kay instead of Arthur. 

Uther clears his throat. Arthur must choose, though there's no choice here he wants, nothing he desires, no escape. He tries to think logically. The girls, they'd be ruined. Whichever he picked, if she quickened, if he put a baby in her, what life would she have after? 'The boy,' he says, throat tightening on the words. 'I'll - I'll take the boy.' 

He pushes into the nearest hut, fingers locked tight around his … his _victim's_ wrist, rather than look at his father's face.

It's dark inside. Even so, Arthur doesn't know where to look, and starts trying to disarm himself rather than think about what he's about to do - until a buckle on his breastplate catches and won't be wrenched free. He drags on the leather, knows he's stretching at the little hole that the tongue of brass is caught on, and that it will have to go to the armourer if he ruins it, and yet unable to stop.

'Here,' says the boy scornfully, slipping up to him and freeing leather from metal. As the armour comes away, clangs to the floor and leaves Arthur in his quilted gambeson and hose. Arthur's doubt and his desire grow, warring with each other. 

'We don't have to do this.'

The boy snorts, pulls away, leaves Arthur and strips his own clothes off, fast and jerkily. 'Yes, we do,' he says flatly, standing half-naked in Arthur's sight, every part of him starkly painted in the dim light that filters through the chinks in the walls, the tiny sooty windows. He is everything Arthur moans in his dreams over - flat muscle, clever hands - but this is _wrong_.

'You can't want to. Look, if we just sit it out -'

A strange expression crosses the boy's face. 'Then they'll all know you couldn't do it. What kind of fearless leader would that make you, Pendragon?'

'How would they know?' Arthur knows his father wouldn't let the men spy, and has no way to spy himself without looking like a hypocrite. There's only him and this boy in here, and the dark walls will not betray them. All it will take is a lie. 

'I'll tell them.'

_'Why?'_

'Because this village is mine to protect and I couldn't.' The boy, who looks more like a man every moment although he can't be more than Arthur's own sixteen years, spits the words with hatred. 'I should have been able to - but I couldn't. So I thought, at least I can save someone else from this - but now, it's even better. You don't want this, you hate the thought of it, don't you. So fucking _noble_ -' he throws the word out like a rock, aimed to hurt. 'Didn't mind killing, did you. But this sours your milksop stomach, apparently, so now I'm going to _make_ you. Fuck me, Arthur Pendragon. Put your conqueror's prick where it belongs, so we all know who the ruler of this land is. And do it properly, or I'll go out there and tell them all exactly what kind of man you are.'

By the time he finishes speaking he's done baring himself. Naked and defiant he throws himself on the big rough-framed bed, and puts his hands between his legs, in the dark space below his soft cock. He sucks his fingers wet, to work himself open, and virgin or no he must have done this before, this thing that Arthur has wanted for himself but never dared try. 

Arthur gets hard from watching, from wanting. They both do, moment by moment, until the boy is gasping and writhing on the linens and Arthur is standing helplessly watching, hands cupped over his shameful reaction. He doesn't care, he decides. He doesn't care if the boy tells everyone in the village that Arthur couldn't. Arthur _won't_.

'Fuck me,' the boy orders. Arthur shakes his head.

The next thing he knows, he's up against the wall. 'You don't want to?' the boy asks, hand curved around Arthur's cock. 'Like you didn't want to kill my mother?'

There _was_ a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman - 

'This was her house. Her bed.'

'I'm sorry,' Arthur chokes out, in a welter of sorrow.

The boy just shoves Arthur onto the mattress, kneels over him, forces himself down onto Arthur's cock. It's a slick burning mess, searing through the knot of hatred and disgust burning below Arthur's breastbone. It feels better than Arthur could ever have imagined, good enough to make his eyes blur, to make his breath come short and his control fray. His hips jerk, fuck one thrust upwards, then another, and it turns out that actually Arthur _will _.__

__It is the single worst moment of his life_ _

__'This is what you wanted,' the boy breathes, lifting and sinking, fucking himself, riding Arthur's juddering body. 'This is conquest. You won, you killed and you burned and you've _won_ so now you get this. You get to fuck me. You get to fuck whoever you like. How does victory feel?'_ _

__The tears in Arthur's eyes mix with the spray of the boy's come across his face._ _


End file.
